


Castles

by sevenisles



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-04
Updated: 2006-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-07 18:45:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenisles/pseuds/sevenisles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It can't end like this.</i> Pretty angsty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Castles

\- 

“Can’t do anything right, can I?” she gasps.

It hurts. _She_ hurts, and her palm is pressing against the side of her stomach where she can feel something warm and wet and thick sliding between the gaps of her fingers. It feels like there’s a heartbeat under her hand, just pumping more and more and more and

_It can’t end like this._

she can feel the hot of her tears as they roll, downwards, into the dirtied blond of her hair. Above her is just grey, just dark and bleak and grey, and she thinks about how it’s so fitting for her to end up this way, how it’s almost like she wanted but exactly like she promised.

There’s a sort of humming around her, residual thumps subtly jarring her body as they get louder, louder, louder. It’s getting cooler, she notices, and she hopes that the sky above her ( _it’s darker than before, it’s darker and she’s having trouble keeping her eyes open and_ ) will open and pour water on her, and on the grass, and on the white that has suddenly appeared by her head.

“No,” it says. “ _No no no no no._ ”

“Yeah,” she whispers. Her lips are dry, they’re cracking and she can’t feel if her tongue will moisten them or not and there’s something in her vision that isn’t grey.

“You’re always arguing,” he says, and she can’t understand what’s wrong with his voice, can’t understand why it sounds so–

“Don’t be sad,” she manages. It’s harder now, and it’s colder, and she can feel her hand sliding from her stomach and resting uncomfortably on the pointed blades of grass around her.

He doesn’t lift her at all, and she wonders how his hands can stay so warm against her skin, pressing against her and holding her closer. Her eyes begin closing.

“Don’t you _dare_. Don’t you _dare_ do this to me.”

Her ears are ringing and she opens her mouth to say something, anything, but all she can feel is something other than words coming out, something thicker and more copper tasting.

“Doctor,” she says, and she chokes on the word, but she really doesn’t mean to. She really doesn’t. He always reminds her about pronunciations, how important it is for some places and times, how—

_This is it._

she can’t remember. It’s all running together and her eyes finish closing, and she thinks that resting, just for a little bit, well it won’t hurt. Resting does the body good, that’s what he’s always said, and her lungs have begun pumping erratically and. And.

_Iloveyou._

“Rose,” he shouts. It must have been shouting, she thinks, it sounds so important that it must be shouting. Why—

_Don’tleaveme._

She gives a sigh, a last one maybe, and it’s followed out of her lips by red.

Around him rain falls softly to the ground.


End file.
